I don't even care about the high school wrestler relationship part of the Dennis Hastert affair, er, make that allegation. Besides, from what I've seen, it's often the swim team guys, probably gay, craved by the coach, and further, they seem to be accommodating to an interesting degree. Nope, what rocked me is the lengths to which the government goes to strictly monitor how much money you put into your bank account and how much you take out once amounts become even moderate. Yes, we know the standard why, and the standard why usually involves drug money and extortion tactics. However, the official peek-a-boo tactics apparently go far, far beyond the actions of non-law abiding bank depositors.
Here, we pause to remember all the screwing we received from dishonest bankers who never served a day in prison for stealing from customers, and we've little doubt to expect anything has changed, despite feel-good legislation crafted in no small part by legislators who continue to receive hefty campaign donations from the perpetually guilty.
Which is to say, all pigs, no matter size, shape nor hue, wallow about in the same slop.
But while nobody cares about the money, everybody cares about the alleged sexual abuse. Call me crass, call me anything, but more times than I can remember, when I see press reports about man-boy sexual "abuse," it just drives me bonkers. For one thing, isn't it strange how the "victims" often tend to come forward like clockwork once the "abuser" becomes wealthy or prominent? That is, is it not reasonable to assume that in an impressive number of cases the love/sexual relationships were mutually fine at the time of occurrence? The fun, the novelty, the gifts, the meals, etc.
But your honor, my client was so young and so confused. . .”
Is the term "underage" applicable? Of course it is, particularly when older men and girls are involved, but the man-boy thing, well. . .
In 1972, just weeks prior to my departure from the Air Force, a friend and I drove down to Atlanta for a couple of days. Of course, there was lots to do and experience there, and among the stores and restaurants a fair number of adult book stores were scattered about. Did we wander through a couple? Of course, curiosity must not be denied!
Such stores are probably in decline everywhere now, with videotapes, DVDs and the Internet having secured a niche once secured by publications made of paper and glossy photos. But my visit to Atlanta's adult book stores was definitely "old school." The thing is, as I wandered past shelves and racks of "normal" man-woman p-o-r-n-o-g-r-a-p-h-y and regarded other variations of human combinations with some surprise, though nudist publications seemed rather tame, I was really caught unawares by the sight of heaping volumes of magazines involving man-boy and boy-boy photography, with cover photos couched in such a way that one could only reach one conclusion as to the purpose and contents. Not only were these displayed prolifically -- but multiplied nationally, imagine the tax money collected in large sums by cities and towns throughout America. Yes, this was all legal, taxable stuff.
As years passed, man-boy publications apparently began to disappear as the ghost of England's Queen Victoria somehow swept into the United States to join the Religious Right and political opportunists (the true predators) in banning targets such as man-boy magazines, and I recall very well the campaigns where politicians ran on issues involving "pornography," and they never saw a naked photo they liked, at least publicly.
Amidst all of this, at some point somebody -- probably within the lucrative law industry -- began to take a long, long look at boys violated sexually. Law books were already replete with actions to be taken against men who raped girls and women -- but what about boys? Voila! The legal system suddenly realized that what was happening to boys could also be called rape - and thus a whole new financially satisfying business of defending raped boys and young men ensued. Indeed, if an attorney could convince a jury that male-on-male, female-on-male or, who knows? baboon-on-human-male rape could be defined as equivalent to what happens to victimized females, a new money-making industry would be born, affecting law firms, judges, prosecutors and the whole freaking client-lovin’ legal merry-go-round. Suddenly, tons of jobs for badge-wearers of Child Protective Services sprung up, even as legal mumbo-jumbo phrases such as "endangering the welfare of a child" and "inappropriate touching" took effect in a whole new light. Is it any wonder that today we fear even saying "hello" to anybody on the street under the age of 30?
Of course sexually abused boys and girls exist, probably in higher numbers than ever before -- but I'm not referencing them today. What I'm talking about is something that has gone on since ancient times, from masters and young male slaves to teachers and young male students: Affairs so common as to be considered normal, once upon a time in a universe not so far away at all. Right here on planet Earth.
In fact, if you have had an opportunity, as have I in the distant past, to talk with people who know people who know people regarding such issues, you would learn that it was not uncommon for male youths kicked out of their homes or as fallen victims of some tragedy to meet up with men who fed, clothed -- loved -- and sent them to school, even college -- some ending up in professional employment and grateful for their fate.
So now we have to hear about former Speaker of the House and lobbyist Dennis Hastert and whatever messing around he allegedly did with boys way back. Big deal. Looks like a little extortion is the result after 30-plus years. Still, I'm going to reserve my right to be far, way far more disturbed about a government bent upon following every dollar of our own money and demanding to know how it was spent, than in who had sex with whom. As far as I know, nobody ended up gravely injured or dead in the Hastert ballyhoo, though be assured that the head-shrinking crew is out there with the ambulance chasers 24/7 on behalf of repressive government regs and reps whose existence and paycheck depend very much upon assembly line production of defined victims and victimizers.
Senator Rand Paul: Oh my god! Agree or disagree, here's a member of Congress who broke away from the sheep and spoke out against something controversial (the Patriot Act)! If Dr. Paul only performs cataract surgery on one patient in 2015, he'll have done more good than most of these dolts can manage during their entire terms.
Anthrax on the move alive, not dead, thanks to government, um, oversight. Well, what's the difference? If nukes don't take us out, biohazards dispatched by flying insect-sized bots will probably do the trick, and. . .
Obamacare will not save us from biohazards brought in by miniature drones.
Nor would health care insurance, put back in private hands and allowed to compete among all the states in the country, but at least you would know you had a comforting choice of providers and plans just before anthrax gifts you with a dirt nap.
New York and other states currently suffer under proposed legislation bordering on absurd, such as not allowing toys to accompany "Happy Meals" that aren't nutritious enough -- and assuring that all construction is "bird friendly." That last one's a kicker because every diehard environmentalist's favorite energy producers of the moment - solar panels and windmills -- are currently frying, slicing and dicing enough feathered friends every day to stock a road kill supermarket.
And don't call me Caitlyn, damn it. . .
And don't call me Caitlyn, damn it. . .